


A thousand lifetimes

by Winterkissed_Jasmine



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: A little bit of everything, F/M, Smut, Some Romance, Some underage (maybe), Underfell, some fucked up shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-16 17:32:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11833623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterkissed_Jasmine/pseuds/Winterkissed_Jasmine
Summary: Sans and Frisk have gone through a thousand lifetimes, a thousand different stories, with one resulting factor: Once they met, once they realized they were in love, the other would die.And the world would reset.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of based off this series of fanfic: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/246121
> 
> In the sense that one cannot survive the other alive. 
> 
> This will be a little bit smutty, once Frisk ages up a bit, though I can't say for sure that there isn't underage shit.

The first time Frisk had met Sans, she remembered looking up at him, seeing his grin, and feeling  _safe._ She gripped his hand, the sound of a whoopie cushion disrupting the quiet atmosphere around them, and she laughed. He laughed too, that ever-permanent grin on his face as he stared down at her small body. 

 

The first time Sans had  _seen_ Frisk was days before that. He had watched her trudge through the snowy landscape, her soul burning bright red through her chase like Grillby's flames. She had looked so  _determined_... so  _innocent_... That look on her face, the way her jaw locked when she stomped her feet against the cold. Something in him reached out toward this small, small child, and wanted to keep her safe from harm.

 

He wondered at that feeling, then dismissed it. He remembered what Toriel had said, and finally drew up the courage to step out of his hiding spot. He watched as her eyes widened at the sight of him, golden caramel and wishful innocence. Her laughter, as bright as crystals and shimmering in the cold air. 

 

Sans smiled at her and knew he was caught.

 

He knew he was caught when he felt his soul tearing apart as Dogamy's teeth ripped through her throat. Her blood was so red, so  _mortal_ as it splattered against the snow. He  _screamed_ and then everything went white. 

**_....RESET...._ **

****

Sans found Frisk again and shook her hand, grinned. Felt like he should  _know_ her, shouldn't he? Felt like he knew her shy smile. He rubbed her head, and then glanced away, wondering where that familiar gesture came from. It felt so natural. So _right_. He couldn't help but notice the way her head nudged into his open palm, like a cat purring against a hand.

 

She made it farther, Dogamy and Dogaressa nuzzling her tenderly. They thought she was their child. It made him irrationally happy to know that she didn't have to resort to killing them. She was so good, so pure, so simple. He continued to follow her after that, carefully maneuvering everything dangerous away from her. A rare monster that had smelled her scent (earth and rain and the night sky), a falling boulder, a sudden trap. He did everything to protect her, so sure that Sans only purpose was to protect the only Mercy, the only true Compassion in the world. 

 

She met Papyrus, smiled at him as sweetly as she smiled at Sans. Spared him, or he spared her, either way she left  _alive_.

 

He got too comfortable, didn't bother watching her, when she tripped down a mountain to her death. Everything went white.

 

**_....RESET...._ **

 

Sans woke up gasping, blinking out blue tears that trickled down his cheek bones. He felt so torn apart, he needed to protect  _her..._

 

Who was  _her_? Who was he talking about? 

 

Sans rolled out of bed, and vomited blue on his floor. 


	2. Chapter 2

Frisk smiled when she saw Sans step out of the trees. His gaze, so warm and wonderful as he stepped out.

 

His words crackled through the air. "Doncha know how to say hi to an old friend?"   _Old friend_. His smile twitched slightly. He didn't know this child, this girl. She wasn't an old friend, he didn't even know her _name_... 

 

 

She didn't seem to notice and ignored his outstretched hand. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his middle and hugged him tightly. Frisk buried her face into his thick, blue hoodie and stayed there. There was a pause, and then Sans arms slowly came up to hug her back. 

 

Why was this position so familiar? They  _belonged_ there, resting against each other as if they knew each other from a thousand lifetimes. Sans pulled away and carefully kneeled. Frisk cocked her head, watched him in mute silence.

 

"Is everything okay, kiddo?" His voice was warm and Frisk nodded quietly. He gave her that  _smile_ and took her hand. "Then let's go home?"  
  


 

Frisk gave him a side-smile and allowed him to lead her  _home_.

 

She wasn't sure why she was thinking of his and Pap's house as home. She didn't remember ever being there, ever staying there, but the little things were so familiar. As soon as the door opened, and warm air blasted the air off her face, she knew (without knowing) that Papyrus would appear holding a giant pot. He brightened when he saw her (though he did not know why) and grinned. 

 

"AH SMALL HUMAN WELCOME HOME."  _Welcome home._ As if she had been here before. 

 

She looked up at Sans and felt  _something_.

 

Frisk didn't remember how she died. Distantly she remembered a pain in her chest and tears and Sans gripping her face, roaring her name. (She never gave him her name, but he was screaming it none the less) And then a blinding white light. 

 

**_....RESET...._ **

 

Frisk woke up on a couch, and it took her several moments to figure out whose couch she was on. But the smell,  _his_ smell came wafting out. She couldn't describe it, but she knew almost automatically that it was Sans. She closed her eyes, a brief thing, before looking down at her hands. 

 

She was older (fifteen, her mind whispered at her) even though she  _knew_ she should be only twelve years old. But no, that was how old she was when she wandered into this new world. She was fifteen, and had spent the last three years with Pap and Sans. 

 

Speaking of, the skeleton drifted from his bedroom, yawning. His long fingers scratched the top of his skull, and he saw her awake.

 

"Mornin' sleepy-head." 

 

She gave a timid smile, scooted to the edge of the couch. His head cocked to the side. 

 

"What, not talking today?" He gave her a lazy grin as he reached into the fridge for a bottle of ketchup. "Thought you were over this when you were twelve."

 

Frisk's eyebrows furrowed slightly. She never spoke... except she had. A shudder went down her spine, at the memories of her speaking, yelling. How could she not have remembered? 

 

Frisk pressed her face into her palms, and Sans was beside her almost immediately. "What's wrong kid?" His fingers were gentle as they rested on her skin, softly pulling her arms away. 

 

He scanned her, that eye lighting up with blue magic, and she knew he was peering at her soul for any sickness. When he found none, his gaze returned to hers, his mouth no longer in a smile. Sans thumb bone brushed against the inside of her wrist. 

 

Her whole body flushed, and she flinched back, ripping her arms out of his hands. Her nerves were on fire, reminding her of her  _humungous crush_ on Sans.

 

There were so many things that Frisk had forgotten, and she didn't know why. With a sob, she sank back toward Sans, who took all of this in stride. "I can't  _remember_..." She whispered against his throat, her breath running against his bones. He shuddered, and she wasn't sure why. 

 

"Can't remember what, kiddo?"

 

She opened her mouth, when a new voice in her mind popped up.  ** _God, I'm so disgusted by all of this. Get over, it's my turn to drive._**

 

__A resounding crack shattered through Frisk's mind, and everything went white.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first few chapters will be jarring and confusing, but I think after the next two, the actual story will start to be shown.

Frisk opened her eyes and found Papyrus grinning at her. She tried to remember how she got here. She tried to remember  _why_ she was holding a knife in her hand, and couldn't. Her fingers flexed around the knife, hidden behind her back, about to drop it. 

 

_**Be quiet. This is not your turn.**_ That voice snapped, and Frisk's body was yanked out of her hands. Without willing it, her body moved, stepping toward Papyrus. A sweet, deceiving smile on her face. 

 

"Papyrus, you know how much I love you?" Her voice was pitched too high to hers, sickly sweet and dripping venom. Papyrus flushed and looked down nervously.

 

"WELL, HUMAN. YOU KNOW I DON'T LIKE YOU LIKE THAT." Papyrus shuffled nervously. "I DO NOT BELIEVE THAT MY BROTHER WOULD BE HAPPY..." 

 

Frisk laughed, and her laugh was so sharp and vicious that it surprised her that Papyrus was not suspicious. Something was  _so very wrong_ with her. "What Sans doesn't know won't hurt him." She reached Papyrus, and the hand that wasn't holding the knife tugged on his scarf, peering through her eyelashes. 

 

It was as if Frisk was curled up in her own mind, watching everything happening, and yet couldn't reach out and fix this. When had she learned how to do this? This sultry, tempting facade? 

 

_Who are you?_

 

A laugh crackled in her mind, and the inner Frisk flinched.  _ **Oh, sweetie. I'm you, but better. My name's Chara, and you're going to watch all of your friends perish.**_

 

Frisk didn't start screaming until Chara stuck that knife into Papyrus' rib cage and watched as he crumbled into dust. She screamed and screamed and screamed. 

 

\----

Chara smiled mockingly at Sans, whose eyes burned and burned, scourging Frisk over and over. She was still screaming within her own mind.  _Sans, it's not me. It's not me. It's not me._

Chara gripped Frisk, murmured.  ** _Don't you realize? This_ is  _you._**

 

Chara, in real life, twirled the knife. "Oh Sans, love, what do you think you're gonna do? Kill me?"

 

He bared his teeth and raised his arm. The world seemed to swirl around them, a hurricane of blue. Chara smiled, stroked Frisk.  ** _Look. Look at who your beloved Sans really is. He is powerful, and you are weak._**

 

His magic was choking, wrapping around Chara and lifting her into the air. There was such keen hatred in his eyes, the hatred of a thousand people who had perished at her hand. He was their vengeance, their fury, their determination. 

 

His fist started to close, and Frisk felt her own spine start to break. The pain was a bridge, a bridge that allowed her to shove Chara away, and  _finally_ peer through her eyes, just enough control for her to scream. " _Sans, no!"_

 

It was too late, his fingers closed fully, and Frisk's neck snapped completely. The last thing she remembered was pain, lightning pain ripping through her nerves, her flesh, and the look of utter sorrow on her Sans face. 

 

_**....RESET....** _

__

Frisk woke up screaming, shrieking and sobbing from the phantom pain that didn't exist. She remembered her neck snapping, over and over, in a thousand different lifetimes. She remembered bones cleaving through her body. Her flesh being scorched away by Ghast Blasters. Her own knife slitting her throat, dragging it deep enough to hit her spine. All these pains, she screamed. She screeched out the horror, the fury of all of her friend's dust on her hands, that wicked pleasure of watching them die one by one. She would scream it all out until she was nothing but an empty husk, until she couldn't remember anything but the pain and horror.

 

Something was gripping her shoulders, screaming out her name. A voice she knew from her nightmares. Frisk's eyes flashed open, and a face of bone hovered over her. His eyes were glowing blue, burning. Sans. Sans.  _Sans._ She knew him and she didn't. She knew the way his bones felt under her fingertips, and yet she did not. She knew what it was like to slowly slide her knife into his eye ball, and watch his magic pour out of him like blood. She knew his laughter, his snarls. She knew...

 

Nothing. Her scream had died in her throat as she stared and stared at Sans. He was whispering something that didn't quite reach her ears. He was straddling her, Frisk realized, his body curved over hers, still gripping her shoulders, still trying to wake her up. 

 

He had pushed a bone through her chest, slowly and surely, drawing out the pain. And then slid another, and another, until twenty bones skewered her body, bleaching them all scarlet with her blood. He had pressed her against the floor, trapping her with manacles of his magic, and took her own knife to cut her a thousand times all over her flesh. She had pushed and pushed him as far as he could go, and he had snapped. 

 

"Frisk?" He whispered, and slowly, carefully, his hands slid from her shoulders to cup her cheeks. Gentle in his administration, his thumb gently curving over her cheekbone, the rough edge scraping beneath her eye. The same eye he had once plunged those fingers in and ripped it out. "Frisk?" He repeated. 

 

This wasn't the same monster from her nightmares, the monster that tortured her slowly and surely, and took pleasure from her pain and sobs and snarls of fury and pain. And as she thought it, the memories of her nightmare started to slip away, leaving only a shuddery feeling of unease as she reached up and gripped his wrist bones. 

 

"I had the worst nightmare." She whispered. There were tears streaking her face, and he wiped them away. Realizing the position he was in, Sans carefully slid off of her and laid beside her (she was laying on the living room floor, she realized) facing her. His eyes weren't the harsh blue, a terrible storm about to wreck her over and over. His eyes were the blue she always knew, the gentle, crystal clear. He wrapped one arm around Frisk's waist and drew her closer. 

 

Gently, as if touching him would destroy this, and she would be shoved back into her nightmares, she curled her fingers into his chest and buried her face against the thin t-shirt. She traced his chest bone gently, and couldn't ignore the way he shivered beneath her fingers (the same way he shuddered when she dodged his attacks and sank her knife into him). 

 

He buried one hand in her hair and pressed his lips against her forehead. "I will protect you. Forever and always. Trust me." ( _"Trust me, you brother killing bitch. You'll get what you deserve.")_ She burrowed closer, right where she could see his soul flickering, bluer than she remembered the sky being in the human world. ( _She shoved her hand through his chest, and tore out his soul, ripping it to shreds)_

 

 

"Do you promise?" She whispered and tilted her head up to peer through her eyelashes at him. There was a flash of unease, she noticed, as he stared at her. As if he, too, was remembering something from before. 

 

His eyes flicked toward her lips, and he whispered.

 

"I promise." 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Sans didn't know what was wrong with Frisk. No matter how much he teased her, played with her, took her to nice places, she was far quieter than she had been the previous days. Ever since that nightmare, where she screamed as if she were being torn in half.

 

Sans knew pain,  _true_ pain, the sort that someone only got when they had been tortured, and it had been all over the kid's face when she woke up. And then she had looked at him. Like she was  _scared_ of him. He didn't know what to make of it, of that simple, crucifying fear. Was it because she had woken up to him curled over her as if he were... taking advantage of her? Sans had been careful to touch her gently, tenderly, after that, just in case that was the reason. And then, when she looked up at him through dark eyelashes, he had flinched back, almost... almost like he remembered her doing that before. To him.

 

But she never had. That was a flirty move, a sultry move, that he  _knew_ Frisk wouldn't have learned in his and Pap's home. So... where had she learned it? It had been tinged with innocence, yes, but there had been something in her sharp gaze that spoke of something  _else._

 

The question haunted him, kept him from sleeping. All he could imagine was Frisk getting up and leaving in the middle of the night, going who-in-Asgore-knew where, learning how to flirt, how to tease like that. For Asgore's sake, what if she had found someone? A  _boyfriend_?

 

So, Sans took to following her when she went out during the day. He was doing it now, seated between tree tops, and watched her as she skipped around Snowdin. The monsters smiled at her as she passed by, and she chirped a hello back. She loved everyone so _deeply_ , so _compassionately._  A scarf or blue and red fluttered in the air as she paused in front of Grillby's bar. Was she going to go in? A shudder went down his spine, as he thought irrationally: What if she had been learning it from Grillby?

 

It couldn't be, right? Frisk was only sixteen. If she wasn't friends with Sans and Pap, she wouldn't even be allowed in Grillby's! He knew it wasn't true, but there was something heating up inside that made him want to shove Grillby against the wall, wrap his magic around his throat. ( _Blue tendrils wrapped around Frisk's delicate throat...)_ Sans flinched, but that memory swiftly faded away, leaving Sans with an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

 

So engrossed with his thoughts, Sans didn't notice how Frisk was still standing, frozen, in front of Grillby's. She was staring at it as if she were entranced, her gaze distant, replaying something in the back of her mind. Sans teleported to a tree closer to the wall of the bar, so he could see her face, and found it unnerving. There was a coldness to her face, something frigid in her eyes that sent a shudder down Sans spine. ( _That same coldness, a burning viciousness as she showed him Pap's dust on her hands)_

Sans teetered backward, the memory shocking him enough that he slipped off the branch and fell to the snow bank below. He hit it hard enough to knock the breath out of his chest. There was a gasp, and Frisk's voice (beautiful and bright) erupted.

 

"Sans? Are you okay?" She sank to her knees beside him, hands reaching out, hovering above him... almost hesitant to touch him. Sans sat up, cringing a bit and rubbed his bones. Once she realized he was okay, Frisk sat back on her heels and wrinkled her nose. "Why were you in the tree?"

 

Sans studied her. That coldness seemed to have faded away, and there was nothing but concern on her face. He chuckled hoarsely. "I guess I fell asleep up there."

 

She frowned at him, and her dark hair fell in the front of her face, framing her high cheekbones in a way that tempted him to brush them out of the way. He flexed his fingers but kept them buried in the snow. "You fell asleep?"

 

He grinned. "Yeah. I guess you could say I'm a..." She let out a hiss, jerking away, seeming to know where this was leading. "A lazybone."

 

Frisk shot to her feet, glaring at him from above. " _God_ , you don't stop do you?" Her smile faltered slightly, suddenly, before resuming full force. She held out a hand, and he took it gratefully, ignoring the way his magic tingled at her touch. 

 

"Nope, never, kid." He ruffled her hair (unable to resist touching it). "Guess you could call me a _bonehead_."

 

She huffed, turned her shoulder toward him, and he couldn't help but smile at her. "Anyway, kiddo, whacha doing?" 

 

Frisk paused, glanced at him. "I'm shoppin'." 

 

"Then maybe I can shop withya?" 

 

Frisk was still looking at him, and it was making him uncomfortable. Finally, she smiled and nodded. "Of course." 

 

Sans couldn't get over the fact that Frisk  _hesitated_ before accepting.

 ----

 

The rest of the day was spent shopping until Frisk was practically drowning in shopping bags. They finally stopped by an antique store, with Sans promising to purchase whatever new furniture for their house.

 

Frisk couldn't hide the jolt of pleasure that ran through her spine at  _their_ house. It made her entirely too wistful, and she had to turn her back on Sans to fakely inspect some wooden chest. He was far too observant today. His eyes seemed to pierce her very soul every time he looked at her. He had that sort of gaze that made her feel bare as if he could see her very thoughts. Even though she knew it wasn't in his power, he  _did_ seem to turn up conveniently every time she thought about him. Like when she was in front of Grillby's.

 

She had stopped when she saw the old bar, frozen. She saw... she saw _herself_  burning it down. She watched her drag Grillby to a nearby river and extinguish him, sneering all the while. She heard his  _screams_. And then Frisk blinked away the memories, feeling so sick to her stomach. These nightmares were getting out of hand.   
  


And then Sans had fallen out of the tree as if he knew every single thought, every  _sinful_ thought. ( _A tentacle of magic around her throat. "You just love the feeling of your sins crawling on your back?"_ ) 

 

Frisk closed her eyes, and then he had made that joke, and she had hissed before thinking. ( _Choking blood, laughing all the while. "You just don't stop do you?"_ ) She needed to get away, to sort out her thoughts, but then he asked her to go shopping with her, and she just couldn't say no to his face, that  _smile_ , those  _eyes._ Something was burning in her chest, and she was afraid she was going to go up into ashes. ( _Like Grillby's bar went up into ashes...)_

 

Frisk shook her head from her thoughts and opened the little wooden chest. Inside was a beautiful scarlet knife. She blinked down in surprise at it.

 

The world seemed to get a little hazy, shimmering as if there were heat waves rippling off the earth. The knife was so... familiar. Delicately, Frisk picked it up, curling her fingers around the hilt. Oh, how it seemed to just  _fit_ in her hand. She didn't know how to use it... and yet she did. She knew that if she struck at a certain point of a monster's throat, it would die almost instantly without fighting back. 

 

"Frisk, how about this? Once we get the shed all fixed?" Frisk turned slowly as if moving through water. Sans was looking down at a cute, wooden bed with sheer gossamer curtains draped above it. It was perfect for her. He looked over at her silence and froze. 

 

The knife was still in her hand, hanging from her palm as she stared at him. She could remember  _everything_. Everything that she had done to him. She remembered killing  _everyone_. She remembered tearing out his soul with her teeth and watching him die. There were tears trickling down her cheeks. That hadn't been her, no, but it  _was._ He thought it was her, so it must've been. 

 

And he was staring down at her hand as if there was a memory creeping up. Frisk knew that he was trying to figure out why that knife put a bad taste in his mouth when he'd never seen it before. Why his magic was starting up, why his eye was starting to glow blue.

 

"I'm so sorry," She whispered and felt Chara rise.  _ **You're so pathetic. Look at you. Crying. Just kill him for Asgore's sake.**_ Frisk had forgotten that Chara was there, in the back of her mind. 

 

"Frisk, kid, what's going on?" He stepped forward, hand raised. There were flickers of blue sparks. The sight of him stepping near, of his magic, hit a cord so furiously within Frisk that she didn't think before raising the knife to her throat.

 

 _ **Wait! Don't!**_ She couldn't take the  _guilt,_ the  _horror_. She ignored San's roar as she dragged the knife across her throat.

 

Everything went white. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gonna be posting songs that's supposed to get ya in the mood for this fic.

Sans woke in an unfamiliar bed with his arm over an unfamiliar waist. He tensed all his bones, realizing he didn't know the room, the sheets against his body. With swiftness earned from several hard years, he rolled out of the bed, his hand lighting up blue. The body that he had been cuddling shifted wearily at his departure. In the darkness, there wasn't much to see, but the fire in his palm allowed Sans to see a curvy figure beneath a thin comforter, thick hair falling across a pillow.

 

A sudden ache built up in his soul, in his chest, and it took a moment for Sans to figure out what it was. It was  _yearning_ , it was  _hope_ , it was breath-taking  _craving_ for this woman to be, "Frisk?" He breathed and was gripped with a sudden fear. What if it  _was_ Frisk? What would he do? She was twelve (No, fifteen. No, sixteen? Why couldn't he remember?) It was still far too young, and disgust crawled up his spine, making him want to vomit. The bed shifted again, and the woman rolled over revealing a muzzle.

 

The relief and disappointment were both terrifying to Sans. There had been nothing more Sans had wanted than to see Frisk's blearily caramel eyes, the smooth pale white of her throat sliding to her chest, the curve of her breasts against the blanket...

 

 _Gods, he was disgusting._ Revolting. Frisk didn't even think that way about him, and yet here he was salivating like a teenage Monster. He slammed the back of his head against the door, hoping the pain to his skull would get these  _thoughts_ out of his head.

 

He forgot that the woman was still watching him, and she drawled out. "No? Asgore, Sans, do you not even remember my name?" Sans stared at her, wracking her brain, and then gave a vague gesture with his hands. She let out a hiss, baring her teeth in a snarl "Get out you piece of shit! After the night we had, you said you _loved_ me..." She kept ranting, tears lining in her burgandy eyes, but Sans didn't listen.

 

She had pale fur, Sans mind noted. If he pretended, he could imagine that it was smooth skin... 

 

He whirled and ran out of the house without so much as a goodbye. He ran all the way home, the snow crunching beneath his feet and slammed the door of his home, panting jaggedly. A gasp ran from both Pap and Frisk, who were seated at the dining table, staring at him in shock. 

 

"SANS? WHY ARE YOU JOGGING WITH NO CLOTHES ON?" Pap demanded, his eyes rolling wildly in his sockets. No clothes? Sans glanced down and was horrified to realize he was only in his boxers and no shirt. Skeletons didn't feel cold, so he hadn't even noticed he was half-naked. 

 

Sans looked up and found Frisk staring at him. She looked sixteen, in this timeline ( _In this timeline? What did that even mean?),_ but the way her eyes roved over his rib bones, to the edge of his sacrum just barely poking out of his shorts. She looked _..._ _hungry_. A faint blue blush flushed over Sans cheekbones, one that copied the pink on Frisk's, before he turned his back toward both Pap (who looked oblivious) and Frisk.

 

"Guess you could say I'm real... bare boned." The joke was weak even to him, and he started for his room. He needed sleep, and a bath and a thousand other things to destroy all these little thoughts in my mind. He couldn't help but glance back and found Frisk's head cocked to the side, her palm pressed against the spot where her soul was. 

 

He found himself copying the move, lightly rubbing where his soul burned bright and blue. He was so  _exhausted._

 

\----

Sans woke to a short scream, cut off abruptly. Before he realized it, he was already vaulting off his bed, kicking the blankets off his bare legs and kicking his door open. He couldn't explain how he knew that  _scream,_ how he knew that it was Frisk screaming. ( _She screamed, arching her back as he buried his teeth into her flesh and ripped_ ) He knew it from his nightmares, the ones where he hurt her over and over. 

 

The scene in his living room was gruesome. A monster was crouched over the couch, and Sans snarled, sending a flare of blue light that blasted it against the wall. He darted toward the couch, and almost wish he didn't. Frisk lay there, staring at him with blank eyes and a torn throat. He was weak, so weak, and he sank to his knees beside her, fingers gently stroking her pale cheeks like he wanted to do earlier. 

 

"My Frisk, Frisk,  _Frisk_." He chanted, curving his head over hers. He could  _save her_ , he just needed his magic. He gripped his soul,  _hard_ , and reached out. He could save her, protect her,  _kill_ her.

 

Sans forgot about the monster behind him until burgandy magic tore through him, ripping apart his bones, stopping him from protecting Frisk. The fox monster (who he still did not remember its name) leered over him. He was dying.

 

"You said we had something special, Sans, something  _special_." He stopped listening, just painfully turned his head toward Frisk. Maybe it was best that they'd die  _together_.

  
Everything went white. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I still haven't quite figured out where to insert the smut, tbh. I'll figure it out.

Chara smiled softly as she peered out of Frisk's body. She raised her hand, flexed those delicate fingers. Uncalloused, she thought, from years of sitting on her ass.  ** _So weak, Frisk. No one even taught you how to fight._** She would fix that. She would help Frisk to reach her full potential, whether or not Frisk wanted to. 

 

 _Please don't._ Frisk was begging, and if Chara concentrated hard enough, she could see the faint outline of Frisk beside her. The ghostly spectator was kneeling before Chara, hands clasped before her heart,  _begging_ her to spare Papyrus and Sans.  _It's the only thing I'll ask of you. Please, Chara._ Chara sneered, reached down and found Frisk to be firm to touch as if she truly were a person. 

 

 **"Even if you beg, I won't stop."** She turned away from Frisk and continued on her way, gripping the spectral Frisk by her wrist, dragging her along. 

 

Sans kneeled before Chara, his eyes gaze dark and heady as he stared up at her.  _ **He can't even tell us apart.**_ Chara teased within in her mind as her hand came to rest on San's cheek. Her thumb drew thin lines across his cheekbone.  _ **If he loved us, don't you think he'd know who you are versus me? Or does he think that you're capable of murder?**_ Frisk whimpered from the sidelines, watching as Sans reached up to grip Chara's wrist tenderly. Frisk could  _feel_ his bone run across her inner vein, and she wanted to scream.

 

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. She could see the words forming on Sans lips, and Frisk wanted to scream and shout at the skies, at whatever terrible god was controlling her body's strings. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. 

 

He didn't notice how in a certain light, his beautiful Frisk's eyes flashed red. Red, red as her blood staining his hands in so many lifetimes, red as her lips, grinning at him viciously from above. All he saw was _his_ Frisk, beautiful and unnatural, a goddess among monsters.  He loved her, so much, that it burned so brightly in his chest. He looked up, gaze so  _yearning._ He needed to tell her, needed to admit it. 

 

With power she didn't even know she had, Frisk roared, and bucked, and fought. Chara reeled back in surprise, jerking herself out of Sans grasp. Frisk tore at her own mind, raking claws of fury and hatred. 

 

 _ **Stop it, you idiot. What are you doing?**_ Chara demanded, and then shrieked out in pain when Frisk sank her teeth into her own brain. It was confusing, at best, for Frisk to be fighting against her own mind, but she was doing it. Chara scowled, her actual hand coming up to rest against her now-throbbing skull as Frisk continued to rip. 

 

 _He is **mine**_ **.** Frisk snarled ferally and found herself staring out of her own eyes. Her body was hers, Frisk thought triumphantly. She felt Chara screeching in the background, trying to retake control, but she strode forward, gripped Sans face.

 

"You have to remember this, Sans." She hissed, watching the confusion swim in the pinpricks of his gaze. "I killed your brother." She said flatly, ignoring the pain the ruptured across his face, and the way Chara was beating her way back to control. "I killed him and I laughed while I did it. I ripped his bones apart one by one. Do you know how he sounds when he's in pain? That little yelp he gives? How many times did I hear it? At least twelve."

 

Sans eye was glowing blue and Frisk grinned triumphantly as blue fire started to course up her hands and arms. "I killed Grillby too," Frisk wasn't actually sure if this was true or not, but from the rage kindling in his eyes, it didn't matter. "I killed Undyne too. And Alphys. I made them watch the other perish at my hand. Their dust coated my hands and I _laughed_."

 

A ghast Blaster appeared behind him, and Frisk released his face, spread her arms, and gave up control. Chara was the one who felt the pain of her body being ripped to shreds by the power of the blasters, while Frisk laughed in the background.  


	7. Chapter 7

Sans woke up gripping Frisk on the couch of their living room. Her heart was resting on his ribs, curled up in between his legs, arms wrapped around his middle, and sleeping soundly. His own arms were wrapped around her, hand resting on her upper spine. 

 

The same spine he had once ripped out with his own hands. He stared at Frisk, who shifted blearily in her sleep and burrowed closer to him, rubbing her cheek against the fabric of his shirt. 

 

He could remember. He remembered their last timeline almost perfectly. He remembered every single timeline before that, and he didn't know why. 

 

_Frisk gripping his face, hissing out. "You have to remember this._ " Was that why? Because she had told him? Or was it because previous knowledge of resets and timelines had finally surfaced?

 

He pulled Frisk up higher as he slid into a more comfortable position. Her head tucked neatly beneath his chin, right in the hollow of where his ribs cave into his soul. As if she were meant to be there. 

 

The resets always occurred if one of them died. And normally it was Frisk. 

 

His Ghast Blasters ripping through her flesh as she eagerly opened her arms for them. 

 

Sans rested the back of his skull against the armchair, his head aching. How many timelines had it been when he always killed her? Slaughtered her over and over and over until he couldn't remove the smell of her blood from his hands? 

 

And she had done the same. There had been timelines where Frisk had dodged his attacks and ended up sinking her knife through his eye socket. 

 

Sans shuddered, and Frisk woke up. She tilted her head up, blinked blearily at him. "Sans?" She mumbled, and Asgore forgives him, the way she peered up through her eyelashes... It was enough for any sane skeleton to want to go crazy.

 

Her eyes were brown, Sans thought. Surely that must be a good thing? Every timeline where she snapped, her eyes were always a glowing red, burning with hatred and fury and vengeance. But now they were just sleepy and tired and confused.

 

Carefully, as if his hand was a weapon, he reached up and gently stroked her hair. Longer now, it slipped easily through his thin fingers. 

 

"What do you remember?" He asked, and her face was so close, he could see a flare of unease shoot up through her eyes, a tensing in her spine before she abruptly relaxed.

 

Her little eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

 

His hand slipped to her cheek, cupped it gently. "What did we do yesterday?"

 

She was trying to remember, Sans could see it. Trying to figure out why the question made her so hesitant to answer, why certain memories were starting to pop unwelcome in her head. Her face relaxed. 

 

"You took me to the Waterfall, so I could watch you work?" She sounded unsure, even of her own memories.

 

Sans smiled a soft thing and gently nudged her head back to his chest. "That's fine. Go back to bed, Frisk." And because he couldn't help himself, he deposited a kiss to the top of her head. 


	8. Chapter 8

Sans watched her because he didn't know what else was he supposed to do. What were you supposed to do when your whole life was ripped out beneath your feet? Several times?

 

Did anything really matter, at this point, if their destinies were so intertwined that one of them dying meant a reset? To get back to not remembering? How many timelines had they stumbled through, hand in hand, only to be ripped by the end? A bright of white light and he was back, somehow, somewhere. Could he do _anything_? Without having to worry about consequences? 

 

What are consequences, when one knew that eventually, time would run out and a white light would build? There was a bitterness growing in his chest every time Frisk turned her head and looked at him, and smiled that sweet smile of her. She was growing to be taller than him, eventually, she would tower over him. 

  
_Eventually_. Sans snorted. There would be no eventually. She would die, he would die. Their fates were written in the stars, nothing more, nothing less. 

 

How long could they continue on like this? How long could Sans spend holding her, _wanting_ her, and yet never having her until it was too late? The thought sent disgust shuddering down his spine. He _shouldn't_ want her — she was barely just a child — and yet he did. He had seen her grow up in so many lifetimes. He had killed her in so many lifetimes. He had _loved_  her in so many lifetimes. 

 

He was wretched, a monster. He rubbed his forehead with his fingers, trying to get rid of that ache that was slowly building behind. 

 

"Sans?" She was standing in front of him, her cheeks bright pink from the cold. "Will you take a walk with me?" 

 

Sans blinked up at her, surprised before he gave her a crooked smile. "Sure, I've been feelin' a bit _bonely."_ She didn't laugh at the joke, just held out her hand. 

 

He took it, tried to ignore the sparks that ran through his soul. "What's up, kiddo?"

 

She led him out of the house, dragged him through the thick snow into the forest behind the house, and turned back to him, crossing his arms.

  
Her look was flat, in the calm, quizzical way she always looked like. "You asked me what I remembered," She breathed, and her face was still pink. 

 

His spine tensed. "What do you remember?" He asked softly, stepped closer. _Get away_ , his mind snarled at him.

 

The look in her eyes was heartbreaking if Sans had a heart. "I remember killing you." 

 

The _feeling_ , in his soul— it was terrible and ripping and it made him want to kneel in front of her.

 

There were tears in her eyes. "I killed _all_ of them." 

 

Sans couldn't protect her from her own _memories_. "You remember that?" 

 

She looks away, her face so full of frustrated determination as if she's trying to solve a hard puzzle. "I— I can't remember all of it. Bits and pieces. They come to me in flashbacks— when I look at certain things, or things you _say_." 

 

He stands there and looks at her. She's trembling in the cold, her hands bundled in her sleeves, and there are unshed tears in her eyes. But her face is surprisingly calm, collected. A mask. 

 

Sans exhales, watching his breath make clouds in the air. For once, he has no funny joke, no pun, nothing to say. What _could_ he say? ( _"I'm sorry for killing you. I'm sorry for having you, a child, go through this over and over and over and over. I'm sorry that we can't control what happens in our life. I'm so sorry.")_ And when had sorry stop becoming a word, an overused example of something that he couldn't be sorry for? Because Sans knew if she decided to kill Papyrus again, he wouldn't hesitate to kill her _over and over and over and over_. 

 

She knew it too, that mercy would be off the table, from the look in her eyes as she stared at him. "Now what?" She asked finally after several long minutes of them just standing there. 

 

(" _Now we wait for one of us to die._ ") "Maybe if—" He hates the words that are about to come out his mouth. "If we avoid each other, the deaths, the killings, might not happen." 

 

He doesn't look at her.

 

She doesn't look at him. "I think I'm going to stay at Grillby's tonight." 

 

His soul is cracking, shattering. "That'd be for the best." 

 

Sans continues to stand there as her footsteps slowly fade away, and all he's left with his a faint-trace of her heat still hovering beside him. 

 


End file.
